


Sparring Match

by Kylenne



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Female Character of Color, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus has a score to settle, and needs to know once and for all who's on top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparring Match

Though he was deep within the altered state of meditation, Thane's eyes nonetheless immediately snapped open at the sound of footsteps outside his door, a light tapping audible beneath the faint, low hum of the ship's life support systems. He reflexively reached for the heavy pistol under his pillow, then froze, and deliberately forced himself to relax his grip on the handle. There was no need for that now, he kept telling himself. There were no enemies to be found here, on this ship, merely comrades sharing a singular purpose. Old habits died hard, however, and his body frequently betrayed him. 

Slipping his hand from beneath the pillow, he instead honed in on the sound of those footsteps, shutting out the extraneous noise. Not Commander Shepard. There was a particular rhythm to the way her boots hit the steel floor, the way her steps echoed through the narrow corridor. This was someone else, with a heavier gait. Not the krogan--it wasn't quite that heavy, and he rarely ventured to this part of the crew deck besides. This pattern was more familiar to Thane, and it was less a walk than a swagger, thumping in time to his own heartbeat.

"Garrus," he deduced aloud, glancing up just as the turian walked through the door from the hallway.

"...that's pretty damned creepy, Krios. I'll never get how you manage that all the time," Garrus said, striding to the gun rack as usual when he dropped in to chat, admiring Thane's collection of sniper rifles. It was endlessly amusing to Thane, the way he always stared at them when he came to visit him in the room. It was like a child looking at a shelf full of sweets.

Thane smiled faintly, and returned his prayer beads to his pocket. "A hazard of my profession. My body is honed for constant vigilance, and sight is only one method for maintaining it. Do you require anything of me, or did you simply want some conversation?"

"A little of both, actually," Garrus said, then leaned against the wall. His body language seemed a bit tense, then. Turians in general were one of the more difficult species for Thane to read, but Garrus was easier than most. Unlike most turians, he was too passionate to completely obscure his feelings, even if he held back a great deal behind his outer shell of dry sarcasm and bluster--humans might call it braggadocio, even. Thane knew better than to take that facade at face value. There were scars beyond those which were visible, secret fears and anxieties that bubbled to the surface when he was least aware. Those moments when he briefly dropped his guard with Shepard.

Perhaps he could have previously dismissed it as mere jealousy, signs of inner emotional conflict over their mutual romantic arrangement with Shepard. But Thane believed it ran deeper than that, and it was growing to a fever pitch. He did not especially need to be able to read Garrus to feel those guarded, lingering stares in quiet moments on the shuttle returning to the Normandy, to hear the quiet, ever so slight hitch of breath when Thane brushed against him in close quarter cover and the quick shifting away that followed. There were a thousand such measures of tension between them, and they had been growing of late. In truth, he'd been expecting this meeting.

Perhaps Thane was even anticipating it.

"Oh?" he asked, leaning forward, and raising a meaningful brow.

"I know you're good with a scope," Garrus started, "the best I've ever seen. I've seen you drop krogan in a single shot. And yeah, your kill count beat mine on that Derelict Reaper, I'll give you that. But I beat you on the Collector cruiser. As far as I'm concerned, that's a draw. And I want to know just how damn good you really are."

Thane chuckled lightly in faint amusement. "Is that so?"

"You're not the only one who's got close quarter skills on this ship," Garrus said, raising up off the wall to pop his collar, stretching his neck just so. "I was top ranked in hand-to-hand back when I was in the turian military, and just as high in C-Sec."

"Impressive," Thane said, his expression deliberately neutral.

"Yeah. So I want to know once and for all which of us is better," Garrus said. He strutted to the table, and leaned down hard on it. "Just you and me, Krios, down in the shuttle bay. Right now."

"I do not fight needlessly, or without purpose," Thane replied. He uncrossed his legs and rose off the bed to his feet, crossing the short space between them to mirror Garrus' gesture, staring him directly in the eyes as he leaned down on the table to meet his challenge. "Unless you desire a lesson."

Garrus' nose twitched at that, and he snorted. "Alright, you want a purpose? How about a friendly wager? Loser buys the winner drinks on the next furlough."

Thane shut his eyes for a moment, tilting his head in amusement, suddenly unable to stifle the sense of mirth rising within him. He'd always humored that turian competitive streak, and in truth it was something he enjoyed. Until he met Shepard and Garrus, Thane was used to fighting in the cold stillness of solitude, his body going through the motions of killing because it was all he knew. There was no one else pushing him to be faster, stronger,  _better_. That rush of adrenaline he felt while stalking through Dantius Towers was the beginning of his awakening from battle sleep, and it was something stirred within his blood every time Garrus made a cocky boast during a firefight. It was childish, perhaps, and he would do well not to lose himself to it, but Thane could not deny that he relished it.

Neither could he deny his curiosity at how well his comrade's melee strength measured up. Garrus' sharpshooting skills were well-known to him by now, after spending a great deal of time beside him in combat--he'd never met anyone that could match him in that area before. Were he to be candid with himself, the idea of Garrus testing him hand-to-hand was intriguing.

And perhaps there were other reasons Thane found the notion appealing, as well.

"I see no harm in it," he finally relented. "But Shepard will not be pleased with us, I'd imagine."

Garrus scoffed, and stood upright, folding his arms against his chest. "Shepard doesn't have to know. She's got nothing to do with this."

Thane privately rather doubted that Shepard had nothing to do with this, but he kept his opinions to himself. "If you insist."

 

* * *

 

Piece by piece, Garrus stripped off his battered blue armor, unceremoniously dumping it on the floor of the shuttle bay. There was no real rhyme or reason to the mess he was making. He was finally getting his chance, and he'd be damned if he would waste any time getting down to business. His nerves were on edge in anticipation, and he was uncharacteristically twitchy for some reason, his undershirt nearly getting caught on a mandible as he quickly pulled it off. Garrus just wanted to get this over with.

Thane stood some feet away, by contrast stoic and collected like always, the picture of cold confidence. Garrus had no idea how he never seemed to let anything faze him; he was convinced he had ice in his veins instead of blood, and sometimes Garrus even thought he was far more turian than himself. He watched in distinct curiosity as the drell removed his trenchcoat in a business-like fashion, and the vest he wore beneath it, to reveal tightly toned arms and a taut, smooth chest that was far more defined than Garrus had expected. He was in pretty amazing shape for a sick man. He carefully folded each piece of clothing and bent down to make a neat pile on the floor, and Garrus found his eyes tracing the drell's lean, taut body as he slipped off his boots and performed a few limber stretches. 

When Thane glanced back over his shoulder to meet Garrus' lingering eyes, however, he was shocked out of his staring and remembered to breathe for a moment, awkwardly glancing away with twitching mandibles to kick his armor into a somewhat neater pile.

Finally, they turned to face each other: both men were stripped to the waist, unencumbered and ready to spar. Still, no words were exchanged. Thane simply bowed politely in a typically ritualistic fashion, and Garrus returned the gesture. Maybe drell weren't so different from turians, in that respect.

Garrus curled his fingers into fists, a grin on his face as the drell raised his arms in a loose battle stance. At first they silently circled each other like a pair of predators on edge, waiting for some sign of weakness, some slight lowering of guard for an opening to strike. 

Surprisingly, it was Thane who finally struck first, throwing a focused--if somewhat tentative--punch toward Garrus' face, at the plate beneath his eye.

"Oh come  _on_ ," Garrus snickered with a derisive snort, easily dodging the blow with a sidestep. "You weren't even trying."

"I was merely seeing if you were awake. You were looking a bit tired already," Thane replied with a sly grin.

"I'll show you how awake I am," Garrus grunted. He lunged forward at Thane, throwing his body weight into a punch aimed at the drell's midsection, but Thane quickly mirrored Garrus' previous sidestep, then pivoted to unleash an absolute flurry of sharp punches. The turian blocked most of the blows with finesse, but was still grazed in the side. Thane was fast, much faster than any opponent Garrus had ever faced before. They traded blows over and over again, but neither seemed to be able to penetrate the other's defenses; Garrus blocked, and Thane simply dodged with a sinuous grace. It somehow managed to be frustrating as hell and amazing at the same time. Garrus swiped his talons in a claw-like gesture at Thane's throat, but the drell's back arched as he quickly leaned back in a tremendous show of speed and flexibility.

Despite Thane's superior speed, Garrus had the slightly greater reach and used that to his advantage as best he could, staying just out of reach and forcing Thane to close the gap each time. When he attempted a second attack on his eye plates, Garrus braced to grab the drell's arm, then quickly hit him in the gut and through sheer strength and momentum sent him flying over his shoulder.

To Thane's credit, he was already righting himself in the air, and hit the floor hands first, propelling himself forward and sprung back up onto his feet.

"Excellent maneuver," Thane complimented him, panting slightly. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Oh, you know. Here and there," Garrus drawled, flexing his fingers. 

Thane chuckled softly, rising further upright. "I can see why you were ranked so highly."

"No you haven't," Garrus grunted, wiping the sweat from his brow plate with the back of his hand, and stretching his neck. "I haven't even started yet."

"Perhaps you should stop boasting then, and start showing me." Thane's lips spread into a faint smirk as he dropped into that rhythmic battle stance of his, hip pivoted just so.

Garrus snorted, and put his fists back up. No more defense with him, no more screwing around. It was time to get serious and go on the offensive, to really make him sweat. He may not have been quite as fast or agile, but Garrus was hardly a lumbering elcor. He feinted left, drawing Thane out to block, but ducked to avoid the followup blow and threw his weight into an uppercut. He pressed the attack, forcing Thane back into a defensive position, bobbing and weaving to block and dodge the sustained fury of powerful oncoming blows from Garrus. Drell had a wiry kind of strength, but turians still had the superior upper body force, and Garrus used it to drive his momentum. Inch by inch he pushed Thane back, until he finally managed to break through, lunging forward to seize him by the neck and pin him to the wall with one clawed hand.

He took a good long look at his opponent then, to savor his impending moment of triumph. Glistening sweat dripped down Thane's muscles in rivulets, trailing down his abdomen. Garrus' heart was racing, his mouth suddenly quite dry. Thane was squirming in his grasp, and the sight of it was driving the turian to unwelcome distraction, for reasons quite beyond him.

"Looks like I've got you where I want you," he said, swallowing hard to shove those strange and unwanted feelings back down under a mountain of cocky sarcasm. He grinned a bit viciously. "I want to try one of those fancy hanar wines, none of that cheap two-for-one watered down happy hour swill in those dives down in the Wards."

"I'll bear that in mind," Thane said, gasping a bit beneath his grasp. "For our next wager." Before Garrus could even blink, a pair of green fists came flying at his face, right beneath his eyes, and he yelped in stinging pain, dropping Thane to the floor to reach for his eye plates.

But there was no followup attack at all. When Garrus looked up, squinting with his plates still throbbing, Thane was nowhere in sight.

"What's the matter, Krios? Bowing out already? Maybe I should have gone a little easier on you," Garrus taunted the air.

He was greeted with silence in response. That only meant the sneaky bastard was up to something. He stayed alert, scanning the room with his visor's IR function to detect signs of life. But there was nothing at all, no spikes in temperature to indicate body heat. It was like the room was absolutely deserted but for himself.

Suddenly, without any warning, he felt a rush of air above him as Thane plunged down from the air and slammed an elbow into his collarbone. Growling in pain, Garrus shot back with his elbow to hit Thane sharply in the solar plexus, then spun on his heel and used the momentum to backhand Thane off him. The drell was sent spinning into the steel floor, and Garrus turned, raising his foot to stomp him into it. But Thane rolled to dodge the blow, and in one fluid motion rolled into a crouch and swept his leg low to knock Garrus off his own feet. 

They were locked in full on grappling then, rolling across the floor periodically, each trying to gain the upper hand to no avail. Garrus found himself sprawled atop Thane, a tangle of lean, muscular limbs locking and releasing, bodies squirming in tandem in a vicious struggle for dominance. And suddenly he could feel his cloaca tightening against Thane's thigh muscle, of all the damned reactions to have. Garrus had never felt this way while sparring with another man before and it confused the hell out of him.  _Everything_  about Thane confused the hell out of him, the heat of his body suffocating him, the air thick and suddenly that much harder to breathe--

Before he knew it, the tables had turned once more and Thane had him flat on his back, wrists pinned high above him on the floor in a vice grip too strong for Garrus to break. He growled and snarled, grimacing with all his might to break free, but he was damn well trapped and simply overpowered. And it was his own damned fault, his own body's stupid fault for distracting him. It wasn't like him to lose focus like this in a fight.

Thane stared down at him, glossy black eyes narrowed in a smoldering stare that only made Garrus squirm further, seeming to bore right through him and his turmoil. "Do you submit?" he breathed, his rumbling voice practically purring.

"Can Shepard dance--"

The clever retort was stuck in his throat, though, and Thane brought his lips down so close to Garrus' skin that he could feel the drell's hot breath against his neck, and the sensation shot a tingle up his spine, his breath hitching before he could even realize it.

"Do you  _submit_?" Thane repeated, his voice little more than a raspy, growling whisper in his ear.

Garrus wasn't even sure how to answer that, because he was damned sure this had stopped being about sparring a long time ago. Maybe it had never even been about sparring at all, maybe  _this_  was what drove him to demand this match in the first place, whatever the hell "this" even was. Garrus' brain was aching almost as much as his collarbone, but it didn't seem to matter just then. All that mattered was the rock hard muscles pressed tightly against him, the pain in his wrists, the futility of the struggle, his body faltering and the burning tension in the air, as warm as their mingled body heat. Thane was stronger then, perhaps he was all along.  _He_  didn't seem confused at all.

What's more, Garrus didn't really give a damn anymore.

"Yeah, Thane," he panted, heart racing and his breath short.

 

* * *

 

Shepard walked up the ramp to the main battery, as usual, but strangely enough, it was empty. And she hadn't seen Garrus in the mess area or the lounge, either. She glanced up at the empty air, and spoke aloud. "EDI, any idea where Garrus is?"

"Mr. Vakarian is currently in the shuttle bay. He and Sere Krios are in the middle of a physical altercation."

Shepard blinked. What the hell was going on? Before she could even think, she was racing toward the elevator, an elevator that suddenly didn't go nearly fast enough. Her heart sank, at first, and then she grew livid. What the hell were they thinking? This mission was too important for this kind of nonsense, and she'd thought both of them were too mature for it. If this was about her--dammit, they'd talked this out like adults, and neither of them gave any indication that they were upset or had cause for concern. There was just no reason for any hostility. Shepard stormed out of the elevator, fully prepared to give them both a stern piece of her mind, but when she exited out into the shuttle bay, she froze.

Well. That was different.

"Imani! It's not what you think, really," Garrus said a bit too quickly. He was sprawled on the floor, pinned by Thane with his arms above his head. It kind of looked like a Fornax cover, and Shepard didn't know whether to laugh or shove ice down her shorts.

Both was good.

"We were...sparring, siha," Thane said a bit lamely by way of explanation, releasing Garrus from his grip. He stood to his feet and offered Garrus a polite hand up.

"Really," Shepard said, her face perfectly deadpan. She glanced pointedly at Garrus as the turian briefly rested his hands on his knees. "Blowin' off a little steam, hmm?"

Garrus coughed violently all of a sudden, and Thane patted his back with his brow furrowed in concern. It was all Shepard could do to keep it together, but by the gods, she found a way.

"I did not harm him," Thane offered quickly.

"Maybe you boys ought to hit the showers," Shepard suggested. "You look a little sweaty."

"...I should return to my meditations," Thane murmured, retrieving his clothes from a pile on the floor.

"Yeah, I've got some more calibrations to make upstairs, the new gun needs a bit more tweaking," Garrus agreed.

"Of course," Shepard said, spreading her hands in the air. "Wouldn't want to keep you." She leaned back, resting against a nearby crate with her arms folded, watching as they each scurried away with their respective gear. She waited until they were long gone, then glanced up at the empty air again. "EDI, you've got access to the Cerberus surveillance network on the ship, right?"

"Yes, Shepard," EDI's voice answered.

"Good. I want the shuttle bay footage from the past half-hour. Send it to my private terminal. The one in my cabin only, not the CIC. And delete the originals," Shepard ordered.

"Done. Is there anything else you need, Commander?"

Shepard could  _feel_  the shit-eating grin forming on her own face. Only her military discipline kept her from giggling just then. "...make sure I'm not disturbed when I get upstairs."

"I will see to it, Shepard."

"Thanks, EDI. I owe you big time." There was an extra bounce in her step when Shepard strolled back to the elevator, and she was even bopping her head a little when she pressed the button for Deck 1.

Suddenly, she felt like the luckiest woman in the galaxy.


End file.
